


sugar lips

by bigstupidjellyfish



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Post-Canon, cw licorice, examination of harrow's weird eating habits, i mean they're clumsy as hell but at least they're dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 08:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30001779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigstupidjellyfish/pseuds/bigstupidjellyfish
Summary: gideon attempts to convince harrow that flavor is a necessary quality in food
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	sugar lips

"Sure you don't want some?"

"Positive."

"Just a bite? A very tiny one? Trust me, it's not so bad. An acquired taste, maybe, but not bad."

"No."

"Your taste buds must be so shriveled and sad, Nonagesimus."

"My taste buds are perfectly fine and well."

"But look at these things! They're even all black, just like you love it."

"For God's sake, Griddle! Would it kill you to keep your mouth busy with eating those- those utterly disgusting looking worm candies and not nagging me?"

Gideon did not flinch at the shrill sound of her adept's voice exploding with annoyance at her. She bit off a piece of the soft candy stick and suppressed a grimace as it attempted to bite her tongue back with its thick and herbal taste. Gideon had tried a lot of various foods just for the sake of it now that she had a chance to do so. Her current treat was quite unique - sweet like decay and bitterly black, it fought back as she chew through each bite. It mildly resembled a cough syrup, which was why she decided that Harrow would probably like it.

"Maybe," she responded, trying to scrape the bits of licorice off her teeth with her tongue.

Above her, Harrow huffed an exhale and turned the page of her book angrily, but - nothing beyond that. Gideon still lied comfortably on the couch next to Harrow, her head put against Harrow's thigh (mostly the bony part of it, which Harrow's thigh somehow managed despite it being anatomically implausible). And - the most blissful part of it - Harrow still hand her tiny hand on Gideon's hair, fingers running through red bangs while her thumb thoughtlessly brushed over freshly shaved temple, as if it was constantly amazed by the short prickly hair and could not resist touching it.

Gideon loved being irresistible to Harrow. Like, a lot.

"What's your favorite flavor?"

She kept nagging her over food, partially out of boredom, partially out of worry that her ascetic adept simply forgot to eat sometimes and was too embarrassed to admit something like this. She could not recall seeing Harrow eating something more interesting than a piece of dry rye bread with gravy. It's normal to notice that your girlfriend has weird eating habits, right?

"Nutritional."

Well, okay. Maybe she did not forget to eat, whatever.

That was still boring as hell.

Gideon watched her in silence for a bit, how Harrow's black eyes darted right and left, right and left as she went over the lines in her book, her eyebrows knitted together in a trademark Nonagesimus expression of concentration. Her face was unpainted, and from down there, Gideon could quietly enjoy the sight of her biting her lip or wrinkling her nose, and that spectacle combined with the feeling of Harrow's nimble fingers on her hair almost counted for entertainment.

"Harrow, all I'm saying is- shush, don't frown at me like that, please- is that it wouldn't kill _you_ to try tasting something new. You might even like it."

That stopped one of Harrow's eyebrows from collapsing under the weight of her frown. It shot up in the opposite direction instead, creating a rather funny asymmetry on her face, half-irritated, half-skeptical, all-done with Gideon's bullshit.

"Remind me, was it last week when you tried these things- red peppers? If I recall it correctly, you ended up choking on your own saliva and tears-"

"Okay, okay, that was a mistake on my part!" Gideon rushed to interrupt her, feeling her face heating up with a blush of embarrassment and a distant memory of her mouth still burning from the pepper. Who would have known that biting a big chunk of it would be so bad? So what if she was warned that it was spicy? On the Ninth, anything that wasn't nutritional paste could be considered spicy, how was she supposed to know? "But think of it like that: I took the bullet for you so you don't have to repeat my mistakes!"

It lasted only for a fraction of second, but Harrow's fingers tangled in red hair froze at that, and the temperature in the room dropped by a tenth of a degree. However brief, Gideon noticed.

"The reason I don't have to repeat your mistakes, Nav, is that, unlike you, I have zero interest in putting weird things into my mouth."

Icebergs rose in Harrow's voice, but despite that, a giant smirk already plastered itself across Gideon's face, her brain instantly zeroing on an opportunity for making a terrible joke rather than, say, thinking.

"That's not supported by the evidence of what you did last- Ow! Ow, Harrow, stop! I didn't mean it like that!"

She writhed in Harrow's lap until her adept stopped twisting her ear between fingers. Once Harrow let go of her, she clasped her hand on her poor ear and pouted.

"There has to be something you like eating, I mean, besides me-"

" _Gideon_."

Gideon shut up.

She was still getting used to Harrow calling her by her name. There were simply so many ways Harrow could say "Gideon", and Gideon yearned to hear through all of them. Even this strict, annoyed bark with a bone-rattling undertone. 

They quieted for a while. Harrow furiously flipped through pages, very obviously not even reading the text, her forehead in wrinkles and mouth curved in a pout. Gideon kneaded her ear, feeling something prickly in her chest. It was weird; some ages ago an exchange like that would have ended in a fight, or worse. But not now, not for a while. Soon, Harrow put her palm onto Gideon's forehead, fingers ran through her hair again, and it was that action that smoothened out her frown and put her back on track. Gideon watched how she flipped several pages back, returning to the paragraphs she missed, and felt the congealed mass of emotions in her chest growing larger.

She liked to be the one who calmed Harrow down. Like, a lot.

Simply because she could do that now, she caught Harrow's hand by wrist and tugged it lower, putting osseous knuckles against her lips stretched in a mindless grin. It was amazing, and then Harrow inhaled through teeth above her, nervous fingers twitching against Gideon's mouth and brushing over Gideon's cheek. 

Now that was just sublime.

"There was a... treat that Crux used to make for me, back on the Ninth."

Gideon, already mentally floating somewhere in outer space, struggled to parse the noises that turned out to be Harrow's solemn voice upon closer inspection.

"Mhmm?" She supported this turn of the conversation intelligently. Harrow's fingertips felt ticklish against the line of her jaw and neck, making Gideon want to squirm and purr intermittently.

"It was- it's just water with lemon juice and sugar," Harrow said reservedly, sounding self-conscious all of a sudden. "A moderate amount."

In just few words, Harrow revealed so much new information that Gideon needed a moment to catch up. First of all, the idea of Crux making treats was pretty damn disagreeable and merely imagining him fussing over the infant heir of the House was enough of a threat to crush Gideon's psyche flat. Then, there were... the contents of that thing that apparently qualified as a "treat".

"How much do you consider a moderate amount?" Unable to handle this all in the moment, Gideon opted out for asking more practical questions.

"Just a couple of drops. And half a teaspoon," Harrow responded after a pause.

"The Nonagesimus moderate, just as suspected," her cavalier muttered to herself.

"Gideon."

Vulnerable and quiet, this time.

"I'm not judging, I'm just surprised."

Harrow shrugged, and another patch of silence stretched out between them, filled only with the sound of rustling pages and Gideon's occasional noise of content whenever Harrow's fingers reached to scratch behind ear or went over the shaved temple again.

It was comfortable. Talking and growing quiet. Bickering. Doing things and doing nothing together. The casual touch. Combined, these small things became enormous, enveloped Harrow and Gideon with the shared memories, the intimate knowledge of each other, filled these little gestures with meaning, and meaning was the whole world.

And because both were invested in this world's continued existence, soon Gideon got up from the couch and exited the library to do a tiny self-imposed task. Even that caused a silent exchange between them: Harrow quirked her eyebrow in a wordless inquiry, Gideon winked at her with quiet reassurance that she was going to be back soon. It positively rocked that they did not need a millenia of war crimes to master this sort of communication technique.

Gideon finished her licorice candy stick halfway through her quest (and decided that licorice wasn't actually that great). She had no trouble finding a mug and water, and quick snooping around the kitchen cabinets provided her with a jar filled with caramelized sugar shards. The lemon part was a bit tricky: the station that so generously provided them with shelter did not seem to have functional hydroponics, but using her amazing deduction skills, Gideon concluded that there must be some sort of cold storage for perishable foods. She actually found the citrus fruits in the freezer and snatched the one that looked the best among the bunch.

She instinctively wanted to put a whole shard of sugar and a full teaspoon of frozen lemon pulp into the mug. There was no goddamn way Harrow would notice the difference, right? And if she did, the recipe Gideon thought was reasonable and correct would definitely open Harrow's eyes and invigorate her taste buds with the full experience of sugared water with lemon.

But that... wasn't the point of it, was it? Gideon chipped off a tiny piece of sugar, scrapped the melting piece of lemon with the teaspoon to get, what, a negative amount of juice into it, and mixed it all together. She took a sip of the beverage out of curiosity, to absolutely no avail - the leftover taste of licorice still lingered on her tongue, and of course nothing in this mug was strong enough to sway it. Which was probably a good indicator that she didn't put too much of anything to ruin Harrow's favorite (only?) childhood treat.

She tried not to think about Crux on her way back to the library.

Her return startled Harrow. Narrowed black eyes darted towards Gideon, stopped at the mug in her hand, and then narrowed even more.

Gideon grinned, but it turned lopsided and awkward, and her brain blanked, leaving her with no smartass remark to say out loud.

"Here," she came to Harrow, handed her the mug, and immediately wanted to fall through the floor and disappear.

The tips of Harrow's ears turned red, and she held the mug as she fully expected a snake to jump out of it onto her.

"Is this- Is this the-" 

"Yeah."

Gideon sat onto the couch, putting elbows onto her knees and locking her hands together in a useless attempt to hide her nervousness. On the other side of it, Harrow did not look any better, her surprised face crunched in a mask of distrust. 

They got good at not telling each other to die in a painful and humiliating way. They got good at not dying for each other in, well, any way. They even got good at being around each other, talking, touching, sleeping, which was nuts, honestly.

But how do you tell your sworn enemy turned into your life's devotion turned into your girlfriend, _"Hey, I made this thing you said you liked because I care about you and I want you to have nice things"_?

Gideon did not know that, and instead she discovered she had a fear in her, a fear of seeing Harrowhark smashing the mug against the wall angrily and accusing her of indulging in childish endeavors. The uncertainty was flooding her, making her question why she acted on the impulse - Harrow did not ask for anything, after all, and Gideon did not need to go an extra mile when it was unnecessary, right?

Harrow shot her a suspicious look, then glanced at the mug again, her fingers gripping it tightly, knuckles white. She seemed to be at similar loss at words, and suddenly, Gideon realized her necromancer was wondering if this was some sort of a prank, but did not want to believe the possibility. Because how do you accept a random kind gesture from your sworn enemy turned into something worth sacrificing your whole life for turned into your girlfriend? Clearly, Harrow did not know.

"I, uh," Gideon cleared her throat awkwardly, "I hope I didn't put too much lemon into it. Couldn't exactly squeeze it, they keep them in the freezer."

Dubious, Harrow blinked, startled by her words, and finally lifted the mug to her face and took a cautious sip.

The following sequence was like watching a bird drink from a pond: Harrow lowered the mug, eyes closing, and swallowed visibly, then brought the mug to her lips again, barely tilting the cup to wet her mouth with the tasteless liquid. Judging by her distant, almost alien expression of open vulnerability, the necromancer was having a one-on-one with the treat, evaluating it with each sip and, Gideon hoped, finding it adequate.

These small, jumpy motions made Harrow seem younger, unburdened. Gideon suddenly had a vivid image. The Drearburh castle. The Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House working tirelessly on keeping up with its shrinking geriatric population, on keeping up with the lies that built the Ninth from the black core to the top tier. The House Marshall, hulkling and ghastly Crux, a mug in his hand tiny as a bottle cap, offering the "treat" to Harrowhark and hovering over her awkwardly as the heir of the Ninth House allowed herself to be indulged, to be a little girl, for less than a whole minute.

Did she just compare herself to Crux? God damn it.

In the present, Harrow finished her drinking ritual and put the mug onto the low table before the couch. Gideon immediately looked into it - there was still more than a half left.

"Thank you, Gideon."

Harrow's voice was full of emotion that Gideon couldn't nail down in the moment.

It was so fucking unfair, that the unfairness and scarcity of their previous lives still reverberated through them, still fucked them up in new and newly unfair ways.

Gideon put her arm around Harrow's midsection and unceremoniously yanked the necromancer towards her. She put Harrow onto her lap and pressed her back to chest, wreathing both arms around her necromancer's frail body. The cavalier had a goal to wrap herself around Harrow in a bear hug and, thanks to Harrow's physique, it was extremely easy to achieve.

"Licorice kinda sucks, don't try it," Gideon grumbled once she completed the cuddle-merging with Harrow by putting her chin onto Harrow's shoulder and nuzzling her face against the neck.

A tense moment of Harrow combatting her inborn reflexes passed, and she gradually relaxed into Gideon's embrace, her consisting of sharp angles body accommodating to Gideon's curves and bumps.

"Not that I had any plans on doing so, but thanks for the heads up."

As always, Harrow's body heat was astonishingly intense. It was like every nutrient she got was converted into excessive warmth instead of muscle or fat mass. Gideon got used to it, found that she no longer could sleep well without the Nonagesimus furnace under blankets with her.

"I still think that you should start trying out flavored things any time now. Doesn't have to be extreme, maybe try putting some mint into this lemon water of yours next time?"

Harrow huffed, incredulous that her cavalier still hadn't dropped the topic. But this time, the angle was somehow different, easier to approach for both.

"I'll pass on that, too," she responded after a while. "I tried menthol cough drops once when I was five, I think. I drooled so much I almost died from dehydration. Naturally, I had bad sensory associations with it ever since."

Gideon chuckled, shaking them both with her laughter.

"Really? Damn, I wish I was there to see it. I mean- Sorry."

"I suppose it was at least as funny as watching you after you ate peppers, so I understand the sentiment."

"Ouch, Nonagesimus, ouch. The wound is too fresh still."

Harrow's hand covered Gideon's palm resting on her stomach, fingers intertwining together with Gideon's. The physical connection was a nice backup for their still clumsy banter dancing around sore topics - but inherently so distracting.

"Okay, no mint or other strong flavors. Maybe add a bit more sugar?" Gideon said, trying not to get too interested in hand-holding instead.

She felt Harrow freezing momentarily, then fidgeting. What was the reason? Another unpleasant memory she bumped into by accident?

But it turned out to be something else when Harrowhark half-turned to Gideon in her lap, her hand cupping Gideon's cheek and turning her face down to her. Stunned, Gideon saw a sly, beautiful smile stretching on Harrow's lips, and before she could even squeak, Harrow put that smirk against her mouth.

The kiss felt like another brick in conversation. Gideon made a mental note that it appeared that with this sort of argument in her favor, Harrow instantly won.

"I really don't think that sugar is necessary, Nav," her necromancer whispered as soon as they parted, still within an inch of each other. "I find your lips to be sweet as honey." She treated herself to another kiss instantly.

And frankly? She had a point.


End file.
